


Something Real

by snowkatze



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: Jaskier loves someone new every night - maybe this night, it can be Geralt. He craves Jaskier's touch so much that he will take the pain in the morning.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 79
Kudos: 1387





	Something Real

Jaskier likes to live a little. He likes fabric that feels soft against his skin. He likes smelling of flowers. He likes food that tastes good. He likes things that are beautiful – he likes people who are beautiful.  
He goes to sleep after a hearty meal and with another human next to him and the glow of a feeling around him, like he's whole. In the morning, he is well rested, but still restless. He needs to get out, to get away. Not running away – running towards something. Towards the sun rising in the east, towards another town, another evening of food and laughter, another person whose eyes he falls in love with. And he's awake the next morning, too awake.

Jaskier likes having things. But he doesn't like keeping them.

He doesn't know what he's chasing, not until he sees a strange brooding man in the corner of the tavern and thinks _ah, there's someone real._ And when he follows him he feels a rush, fear, excitement – something real instead of a magnitude of almost emotions.

He stops following the sun, starts following a horse called Roach and a stubborn man who doesn't speak much with words.

And it's good. When they're at a tavern, Jaskier takes beautiful people to bed. He looks to feel at ease for a little while.

But then – then he learns the dry wit of the witcher. He learns to read the looks in his eyes. He learns that exasperated look is one of fondness – fear becomes an almost emotion because he's never really in danger – he learns to trust. He learns that witchers can have a heart, such a kind heart.  
And then -

He eats and he drinks in a tavern one night. There's a woman with auburn hair who can't keep her eyes off him. She tastes a little like cherry and she touches him like he's worth dedicating her time to. Usually, he feels the glow of something in his chest as he falls asleep and it's only gone in the morning.  
But tonight, next to the woman with auburn hair, he lies still wanting. Craving.  
So the next night, he finds someone else. He finds someone who whispers sweet compliments in his ear, makes him a dozen empty promises. When he closes his eyes after, all he can think about are piercing yellow eyes.  
He finds someone with a big, scary-looking sword and broad shoulders. But they have short hair and brown eyes and Jaskier is still not satisfied.  
(He's never satisfied.)

When he finds Geralt the next morning, he sees him standing there with Roach, tending to her carefully and whispering in her ear. He craves – he craves the beauty in the angle of Geralt's jaw, the beauty in the colour of his hair, the beauty in the shape of his lips -

He's -

Well. He really should have seen this coming.

Jaskier is just so human. So painfully human. So painfully – untouchable. At first, Geralt tries to get rid of him, because it's never been a good idea to get involved with the human world, and he's never met someone as human as Jaskier.

Jaskier is all these impressions, these almost memories of his past - that touch to his shoulder - that flutter of his heart - that glint in his eyes -  
Jaskier is so many things Geralt doesn't understand -  
So human. So different. So much _more_.

Geralt likes watching him, just to see the life in his movements. When Jaskier isn't looking, sometimes just out of the corner of his eye. The way Jaskier's eyes light up when he's found someone he's interested in. Jaskier loves quick and fast and foolishly, someone else every evening.

At first, Geralt is curious at it. It's strange, because he knows Jaskier cares – about everyone, about everything. He gets enchanted by a laugh, by a wink, by a hand on his shoulder. He gets led away by a stranger when the opportunity presents itself and Geralt is alone.

The irritating part about it is that it's... disturbing. He's overly aware of the empty bed next to his when he goes to sleep in their room.

Jaskier wants Geralt to talk more, to open up. But he can't hear the things Geralt hears in his head every night. The fear-filled screams. The gasps of pain. The cries for help. He has trouble falling asleep on nights like these. He can get to rest only when he imagines Jaskier singing to him softly.

Or Jaskier touching his arm, his face. Softly.

But Jaskier's not here – he's touching someone else and that's fine. They're not – they're not anything. He's not anyone to spend the night with. He's not someone to waste your soft smiles and your sweet whispers on. He's not the kind of person you ask out for a drink – he's not a kind of person at all.

The next morning, they part again. Which is fine. They're not friends. They're not anything.

Geralt doesn't belong anywhere or with anyone. Most people he meets once and then never again, or maybe in a decade or two. There's no place he comes back to, no faces he sees every day. No roof to give him shelter. There's only him and Roach and the road.  
And then - then there is Jaskier.  
And at some point, the quiet is more strange than his unstoppable chatter. At some point, when Geralt is on his own, he starts feeling homesick.  
  


Geralt gets hired because people have been disappearing in the village. Jaskier is with him again and it puts something to rest in Geralt's mind that's always in motion when Jaskier isn't there.

Geralt goes to kill the monster – only it's not a monster, it's a human – a human kidnapping young women – killing them -

The monster is weak, much weaker than most other monsters Geralt encounters, but he struggles more for a reason Geralt can't explain to himself. He gets a cut across his cheek, a hard punch across his nose.

The woman who hired him is there, angry and scared, but more angry -

Geralt can't stop her, and he can't stop the knife lodging itself in her abdomen.

He stands over two dead bodies and a living horse, a bloody dagger in his hand. Suddenly, the stable boy is front of him, leaning over the woman's body. Geralt wants to say something, searches for the words – apologize – but the boy searches the woman for a bag of coins -

He shrugs when he catches Geralt's gaze.

“It's not like she'll still be needing it,” he says and is gone in the blink of an eye.

The horse is nervous, it leans down over the woman's body, nudges her.

_She's gone_ , Geralt wants to say, but he can't bring out the words. All he can think about is the boy's shrug, the coins in his hands.

Geralt doesn't know how long he's standing there before Jaskier shows up. He takes in the scene in quiet shock. Then, he walks to the horse and starts soothing it.

“Shh, it's alright,” he says. Geralt closes his eyes. He slowly calms his breathing. “It's alright.”

Geralt looks at Jaskier, wonders if he should say something terrible.  _Looks like I won't be getting paid tonight._

Once the horse has calmed down and Jaskier has fed it, he moves to Geralt.

“Oh my, Geralt, are you hurt?” he says, clearly concerned. About what? A cut across his cheek?  
Geralt grunts.  
“Let's get back to the tavern. I'm going to fix this,” Jaskier says and puts a hand on Geralt's shoulder. Geralt looks back at the bodies and the blood on the ground, at the unfixable.

He got it wrong, he thinks. Jaskier isn't human at all.

Once the village knows what happened, they are back in their room and Geralt doesn't go to sleep, even after Jaskier has tended to his wounds. His soft touch gone from Geralt's face. He sits on the bed. And she died with her eyes wide open – her dead eyes staring at him – and he tries to remember her name, but there are so many years and so many people who – so many names -

And Jaskier is here in the room with him. He's here, even though most nights he isn't. Most nights, Geralt is not the kind of person you feel comfortable falling asleep around. Unless they're on the road, sleeping out in the open, in the woods, then _someone_ 's presence is appreciated – even Geralt's.

Being a witcher, it's like walking through the desert for years on end. Adapted to it. Used to it.  
And now, when he looks at Jaskier, it's like being lunged under water, like being pushed into it and suddenly it's all around him, but he's not drowning. Suddenly, he's breathing under water. But that doesn't mean Geralt is someone to love.

The voices come back, then. Even though Jaskier is here, they come back. _Help,_ they say. _Help me_. It's only after a few minutes that Geralt realizes the voice in his head is his own. Jaskier is looking at him, as if he's waiting for something.

_Can you plant a flower in the wasteland that is my heart?_

“Jaskier -” Geralt says and Jaskier is next to him in an instant. Geralt slowly raises his hand, asking, you're here tonight, so just – just for tonight -

Jaskier lets out a startled breath, but he doesn't draw away. Then he pulls Geralt into his arm, presses him close. Geralt doesn't say a word, just presses his forehead into the crook of Jaskier's neck. He knows Jaskier is doing him a favour, but he feels safe all the same. A little warmer than usual. He falls asleep and finally dreams of nothing.

They don't talk about it in the morning or for weeks after. Jaskier goes home with noblemen's wives, comes back with love bites in the morning. He's always a foot-step away from being with someone else – someone who becomes more important than Geralt, if only for a night.

The feeling is always there, though Geralt doesn't think too hard about it. It's not a choice. It's just another unchangeable fact of the world. Witchers kill monsters, the world turns dark at night, Geralt loves -  
Well. It's really better not to think about it.

When Jaskier is away again, Geralt drinks ale for the warm feeling in his chest – but it's gone again in the morning. And so is Jaskier – always near, always gone.

They're at some nobleman's party. Jaskier has a crowd hanging on his lips, listening to his songs. Geralt watches him, the life in him. Which one of them will Jaskier take home with him?

When Jaskier comes to talk to him, Geralt nearly smiles. He is about to reach out to touch his shoulder, when someone calls out to get Jaskier's attention and Geralt's fingers meet empty air.

He swallows and turns away himself, trying to seem unaffected. But Geralt is lonely tonight and he wonders – _why can't it be me?_ _The one you come home with tonight?  
_Jaskier is always out of reach, always slips out from underneath his fingers.

“Geralt, I'm about to-” Jaskier starts and Geralt catches his wrist. He halts – he knows this is a card he can play only once. But he can't watch Jaskier walk away again. So he tugs.

Being in love with Geralt is like being in love with a legend. Jaskier is nothing to a man like that - nothing but a side quest, a person to save, a stop on his way to bigger and better things. No one permanent. No one worth staying around for.  
So Jaskier knows that all he'll ever get are phantom feelings. A stranger's touch, never the real thing. So Jaskier is startled when Geralt grabs his wrist. He tries to find something in Geralt's eyes – _what do you want? A distraction?_

Then Geralt kisses him - and it's the closeness Jaskier has been craving. It's everything. It's nothing.

Jaskier draws in a shaky breath.  
“What do you say,” he says and licks his lips, “why don't we move this somewhere... more comfortable?”  
Geralt gives him a curt nod. So that's what Geralt is after. Right. Jaskier knows how to do that, he's good at that.

(He's never satisfied.)

Is that what they will be from now on? Trying to still some hunger for human touch Geralt has? _For you_ , Jaskier thinks, _I'm willing to learn the art of waking up alone. The art of pretending like your touch is all that I want. Feelings? Never heard of those._

They lie down together on one bed and Jaskier is on Geralt in an instant.  
_I know you need me to remind you. That you can still feel warmth. That you are not alone. That there is still love in the world, no matter how dark it turns._

 _Let me remind you the world is gentle._  
  


Jaskier is right next to him. Jaskier is kissing him. Jaskier is close against his chest - and he is still out of reach. And Geralt knows Jaskier's love flickers and burns - burns out so quickly- so he'll have him, if just a little - have him without having -  
Hope against hope he'll stay once he got what he wanted. That he won't move on to bigger things, at least not right away. Geralt can't hold on to someone like him, someone who burns so bright.  
His lips visit Jaskier's neck, the space below his ear, his cheek.  
_Will you still love me once you've had this?_

He runs his fingers over Jaskier's chest.

_Will you still love my sleep filled eyes and my messed-up hair once you've seen it up-close?_

Geralt presses his forehead against Jaskier's. 

_Will you still love my hand when it grips too tightly?_

He keeps his touch gentle when he moves his fingers across the side of Jaskier's face.

_Will you still love my heart once you've heard how slow it's beating?_

Jaskier only ever loves for one night – Geralt knows he's no exception. His love won't last for long, even if it survives the night. Jaskier has seen the monsters, the magic and the violence - but he hasn't seen how dark a place Geralt's mind is.

Geralt's heart beats a little faster, just a little faster than it usually would.   
_Remind me you can touch someone's hair without pulling on it._

Jaskier runs his fingers through Geralt's hair.

 _Remind me you can touch someone's face with your hand without putting the full force of a punch behind it_.

Jaskier takes Geralt's face into both his hands.

_That you can put your lips to someone's skin without intending to bite.  
Remind me what two people can mean to each other -_

Jaskier kisses his lips, breathes into him.

Geralt remembers that there didn't always use to be voices in his head.

Jaskier wakes the next morning alone. He's not satisfied. (Never satisfied.)  
He wonders if Geralt knows, or if he thinks it's the same for them both. He hopes that Geralt understood him, at least. That the world is not just blades and fire and a hundred edges to cut yourself on – it's kind. It's gentle. Or it can be.  
In that moment, Geralt steps into the room, fully clothed, and looks at him with a calculating gaze. Jaskier's breath lodges in his throat. He craves the beauty of Geralt's kind heart.

“Jaskier, I -”  
“I love you,” Jaskier blurts out, then slams both his hands on his mouth.

_I love you._ Geralt can't say it back. Because maybe then he will get to keep this. If he doesn't admit how far Jaskier has already pulled him in, maybe he will stay once his infatuation has disappeared again. It could be minutes before Jaskier changes his minds, maybe hours.  
_What are you going to love next? A lute with ripped out strings? A kettle covered in rust? A dull sword?_  
Jaskier slowly lowers his arms again, misery evident in his eyes. Geralt clenches his jaw and watches as Jaskier's face falls further – a temporary pain that will only last until Jaskier comes to his senses again.  
_What will you love? A sword with blood still tripping off of it?_  
Geralt crosses his arms, then uncrosses them again. He tries to think of something to say that won't give away the truth.  
_Who are you going to love next? Someone human? Someone whole? Someone who laughs and smiles?_

Jaskier's gaze flickers away from him again.

“Ah,” Jaskier says. “I can see you're trying to be kind. There's no need.”

 _Someone who has never seen the look of terror on a man's face right before he dies?_  
“Jaskier...”  
“Don't. Just don't say anything. I'm not stupid. I know you're not in love with me.”

Geralt steps a little closer – how can he fix this without _ruining_ this?

“It's fine,” Jaskier says softly. “You didn't make me any promises last night.”

Jaskier closes his eyes and remembers – how peaceful Geralt's face looked once he'd fallen asleep. He wonders if he will ever let him that close again – if he would have, had Jaskier not run his stupid mouth again.

_Are you scared the skin of our entangled legs will grow together if you hold me too close?  
I will not hold you prisoner in the space between my arms.  
But if you wanted to - if you _ wanted _to stay, I would let you carve your name into the bark of my chest._

He came so close last night – almost, almost feeling something real – what he's been looking for, what he's been imitating for years on end.

“I -” Geralt says. He's been carefully moving closer, like Jaskier's a spooked animal. _Don't treat me differently now. Don't pity me. “_ I'm not as not in love with you as you think I am.”

Jaskier frowns, but his heart beat speeds up a little. “What are you saying? Don't speak in riddles now, please.”  
“I -” Geralt shakes his head. “You don't want to hear this.”

_What, how I'm not enough? How I'm not what you want?_

“I do.”  
_Tell me the truth even if it's painful._

“What about tonight?” Geralt asks, his jaw tense. “When some doe-faced girl smiles at you a little too brightly? When someone invites you in their bed? Will you still want to hear it then?”

Jaskier can only stare in bewildered surprise.

“Surely, you must know,” he says. He shakes his head and laughs a little. “Really, Geralt, not even you can be this obtuse.”

“What?”  
“You're different, of course. Of _course_. You're real. You're the only thing that is.”

“You'll stick around?” Geralt says and clenches his jaw more. “Even when it all goes to shit?”  
“ _If_ it all goes – no, in fact, there's not even an if there,” Jaskier says. “We're being optimistic today. A little giddy, too. But you have to forgive me – I'm in love.”  
“That so,” Geralt says, and Jaskier has managed to coax a smile from him. Geralt's not fully convinced. But it's okay – Jaskier has time.  
“Yeah,” he says softly, “come here.”  
They settle on the bed again and Jaskier presses his ear against Geralt's chest. He listens to his slow heart beat. Geralt is running his fingers up and down Jaskier's head and his hand is shaking a little – like he's scared. Or maybe just nervous. Jaskier allows himself a small smile.

He's finally satisfied.


End file.
